


Choice is an Infallible Dogma

by SaoirseKennedy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: 1952, A little angst, Christmas, Fluff, GROSS AMOUNTS, Korean War, M/M, New York City, Post War, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7634593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseKennedy/pseuds/SaoirseKennedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it was Lew who got called back to the army during the Korean War? What if he didn't turn it down like Dick does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choice is an Infallible Dogma

**Author's Note:**

> So I was just playing around with this idea. It may be a bit out of character, but I tried to make it believable. I made Dick a bit more sensitive, because I think he feels very deeply, but he didn't always show it during the show. I tried to turn him into more of a feeling civilian here. I'm just trying out new things and different actions the characters can take. 
> 
> Oh also I wrote this at like 2:00 am so it's not edited. Hopefully there aren't that many errors. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy my tooth rotting romance anyways!

New York City- Christmas 1952

  
  


Christmas time wasn’t that hard for Dick anymore. Right after the war, he would only stay at his family’s farm as long as was polite. Then he would steal away to Philadelphia, a city he never thought he would find himself in. Home, the countryside of Pennsylvania, had become a reminder of something he used to have, someone he used to be. It was too close for comfort, at least in those beginning years. So he had set up shop in Philly for a fresh start. 

Christmas of ‘49 had been the happiest he’d ever known. He and Lewis spent it in New Jersey with Speirs, Welsh, and Lipton. It was an officer’s weekend, full of drinking and laughing. Dick had sipped out of Lew’s whiskey glass often enough to feel lighter, and that night Lewis had first told Dick he loved him. Of course, Dick knew Lew loved him long before that, but it was the first time he’d been able to say it. 

Now, it was December 24th, 1952, and Dick felt like it was his first Christmas home. The holiday music helped, and so did the roaring fire in the living room. Dick spent the morning wrapping presents and sipping peppermint flavored coffee. Lewis hated the coffee that already had peppermint flavoring in it, and he preferred to melt real peppermint sticks in his coffee, even if it took a little bit longer. 

In the afternoon Dick called his parents and sister, wishing them a happy Christmas and New Year. His mother had already sent his present, and it dutifully sat untouched under his small tree in the corner. 

It started snowing around 4:00 in the afternoon, so Dick decided to take a nap. It was a habit he found himself in more and more. If Lew found out how much he napped, he would never hear the end of it. 

He wondered what Lewis was doing right now; he hoped Lew was tucked away somewhere, close to friends. He hoped he had a good jacket on. In all his letters, he only griped about not understanding Korean weather patterns. Occasionally he would complain about Eisenhower, laughing about having to call him ‘president-elect.’ Dick supposed it was kind of amusing. 

Something catches in Dick’s throat. He wants to sleep, to drift off and wake up to a sleepy Christmas Eve. But the memories rush back without his consent. 

Dick had chosen not to go to Korea. His stomach turned at the very thought. It was scarcely four years since he’d gotten back to the States and already the military was launching a new generation of boys into a war. What’s worse, Dick wondered if it was even worth it this time. He thought of all his fallen comrades who laid in the fields of Europe. Korea was so much farther away. The choice seemed simple enough, and he expected to go on with his life as planned. 

He drove all the way to New York to tell Nixon. He wanted to move out there permanently, because he knew sooner or later he would end up wherever Nix was. It was a new decade, and Nixon seemed to be doing well. At Christmas time he’d talked to Dick about leaving his father’s plant, about living in New York City full time. Maybe he’d put his degree from Yale to good use. He snorted this over his third whiskey, but Dick didn’t even care. He beamed under Lew’s gaze. For the first time in a long time he talked about himself like he had a future. 

The best part was the last thing Nix had told him that night. “I want you to stick around,” his low whisper made Dick queasy with tenderness, and he had taken Lew’s hand in his, remaining quiet and smiling for the rest of the night. 

It was less than six months later when Dick woke up to an urgent knocking on his door. 

The day was already sticky with a June heat, and Dick had let Nix into his apartment in the early morning. When Nix showed up in his dress uniform, he knew something was terribly wrong. 

“What?” Dick said, the word sticking to the top of his mouth like white bread. 

“It’s war, Dick,” Nixon said urgently, pointing to the newspaper he had brought with him. 

“Yes, I know that,” Dick turned the paper over. “The army already called me back, and I said no.” 

Nixon blinked once. “I didn’t,” he looked Dick in eye steadily. It reminded Lewis a little of Ron Speirs, and he shivered internally. 

“What?” he said again, slower. He took big breaths in, trying to remain as still as possible. The summer heat was stifling, and Dick wondered how Lewis wasn’t sweating rivulets in his nicely pressed brown jacket. 

“Well,” Nixon straightened his tie. Dick thought of the many nights he did that for Lewis, before he dragged him out for a night on the town. The memory was greeted by sudden resentment in Dick’s mind. “I volunteered to go again.” 

It was so wrong. It seemed topsy-turvy. Wasn’t Dick the one who was supposed to be the guts and glory soldier? Shouldn’t it be Dick going back to fight for God and country? He was hit with a startling surge of anger and terror. 

“Why on Earth,” there were little red spots in Dick’s vision, like he’d stared into the sun too long. He stared at the ground, and kept himself reasonably calm, but he’d bet anything that Lewis could see the small cracks underneath. “Would you do that?” 

Lew’s eyes were soft and understanding. So, he had seen the cracks under Dick’s skin. He had to know how much it was taking Dick to stand there, away from Lewis, arms crossed, eyes dry. 

“I think I need something to ground me again,” Nixon said, like he had rehearsed the line many times in his bathroom mirror. “I’m a good soldier.” 

“Yeah,” Dick said it louder than he meant too, and it betrayed some of his anger. “But the last war didn’t ground you, Lew,” he thinks, selfishly for a moment,  _ I was what kept you grounded.  _

“I don’t have any direction, Dick,” Nixon got closer, and Dick wanted so much to jump away. For one of the first times in his life, he was feeling recklessly hurt, ready to push back at anything that tried to calm him. “I think this could be good for me.” 

“What happened to sticking around? What about New York, about creating your own career?” Surely that was enough direction for Lewis. 

Lewis was biting his lip so hard, and Dick put his hand on his cheek to get him to look up and cut it out. He felt like his hand would slip, it was threatening to shake right off his wrist. It was only Lewis who ever made him feel like this; like he wasn’t in control. 

He let his hand go limp by his side, waiting for Lewis to say something. 

“This is something I need to do,” Lewis rushed to continue. “I’m sorry, I know what I said, and I don’t expect you to stick around, I know we’re not even--” he stopped, considering just exactly what he and Dick were doing. “Scratch that,” he had said, and Dick looked confusedly on. 

“Nixon?” he said it like he was profoundly lost and hurt. Which he was. 

“I want you to wait for me,” Lewis cupped Dick’s face, his eyes searching his face desperately. “Hell Dick, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just know I gotta go, and I know I love you,” the admission makes Dick’s mouth twitch, despite the circumstances. 

There was never any question that Dick would wait for Lewis, but it didn’t mean he was  happy that he would have to. 

“You want me to sit in New York and wait for you, like I’m your best girl?” Dick said it with his forehead resting on Lew’s collarbone. 

“You are my best everything, though,” Lewis said in a thick, thick voice. It was pleading. “But I understand if you can’t--or won’t,” he put his hand on the back of Dick’s head, rubbing his fingers through Dick’s short hair slowly. 

And it was so unfair. Dick hated the army in that moment. “We have a chance here Lew,” he said in weak argument. 

“Yes, we do,” Nix said, leaning his mouth closer to Dick’s ear. “New York will always be there,” his voice was reassuring, and Dick came close to letting a tear go. “I won’t be gone long. This war isn’t like the last. I can feel it,” he sounded so hopeful, and Dick felt the last of his willpower leave him. 

“I don’t like it,” he says, still hopelessly sad. He buried his face into Nix’s shoulder, holding onto him. “I don’t like it.” 

They stay like that for a while. 

“Does this mean you’ll wait?” Lew is smiling like a schoolboy. 

“Yes.” 

 

Two years later, and Dick was still waiting. Sleeping through the Christmas specials on TV, and Dick was still waiting. He had all of Nixon’s letters out on the table in his living room. There had to be more than 200 of them. Some of them were barely a page long, but others felt like a small novella. Dick tried not to read them all the time, but this Christmas was hitting him hard, and having them out reminded Dick that he was still out there, still breathing and smoking and drinking. And hopefully, soon, he’d be back in New York where he belonged. Dick took Nixon’s apartment in New York, and he had to admit that he’d fallen in love with it. It was so like Lewis that he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. It was beautiful and complex, twisting along the Hudson river with a steely grace Dick hadn’t noticed before. He started worked at US Steel, which distracted him enough during the day. 

And Harry and Kitty, God bless both of them, kept him grounded. They had two little ones, and they’d often come into the city to say hello and ask about Lew. Dick knew Kitty regularly talked with Nix, so they were asking to be polite. The two had the same biting humor, and had hit it off at Kitty and Harry’s wedding. 

Once, in the garden behind the apartment, Harry pulled Dick aside. 

“So, Dick,” Harry was being uncharacteristically sheepish. “I just wanted to let you know that Kitty and I, we, we both know about--” he broke off, hoping Dick would finish for him. 

“Harry?” Dick had a good idea, but he was so off put by it, his heart shot to his throat. 

“You and Lewis are, like,” Harry was getting frustrated. “Like Kitty and I,” he finished. 

Something in the way he said it made Dick’s heart warm. ‘Like Kitty and I.’ 

“Yeah, Harry,” he nodded. “Just like you and Kitty,” he smiled, albeit a little nervously. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad, Dick,” he pulled out a cigarette, and the two didn’t say anything more about it. 

When Harry and Kitty come around unexpectedly on Christmas Eve, Dick thinks he’ll actually sob with happiness. 

Of course though, the tears don’t come. 

“Where are the little Welsh's?” Dick says when Kitty and Harry walk in through the door. They look ready for a party, and panic shoots through Dick. 

“My parents are looking after them,” Kitty says. Her beautiful dark hair is curled like Lauren Bacall’s, and her red lipstick shines brilliantly in the light. “We were hoping we could steal you away for a nice Christmas dinner,” her voice reminds him of his mother’s, and he tries not to give into the temptation. 

“I don’t know you guys, I’m not really feeling festive,” he’s not even dressed. He changed back into his pajamas when he took a nap. “Isn’t it a bit late for dinner anyways?” The clock read 9:03pm. 

“In Spain sometimes they don’t start dinner until ten,” Kitty says, reapplying her already perfect eyeliner with a small compact. 

“Come on Dick, we drove all the way out here,” Harry knows he’s got Dick. 

“Let me go change,” Dick mutters. 

 

They pile into a cab already waiting for them, and Kitty is beaming as she chats, sitting in the middle with his dress fluffing up and pooling onto Harry’s lap. 

“Have you heard from Lewis lately?” She says, gazing out into the cityscape. 

“Not for a couple weeks,” Dick gulps, trying not to worry. Sometimes, when things are really busy, Lew’s letters get delayed, and Dick is still reasonably confident three or four of his letters will arrive on his doorstep once the holiday mail is sent through, but fear still grips him if he thinks about it too long. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Harry says, like he’s heard everything Dick’s thought. “Christmas time makes the post slow as Hell,” he shares a look with Kitty. 

“Yeah, sure,” is all Dick can muster. 

They arrive at the Four Seasons in downtown Manhattan, and Dick thinks they’ve got the wrong place. 

“What are we doing?” He says, suspiciously. 

“There’s a restaurant in here,” Kitty says simply, exactly like Lewis would have. It makes Dick’s heart ache, and his breath catches in the cold evening. Snow is falling all around them, and Dick doesn’t want to be there suddenly. He wants to be in bed, thinking about places he’d rather be. 

“Come on, it’s our treat,” Harry says. “We want this to be a good Christmas.” 

Dick swallows a rising storm of tears, fights them back like usual, and lets himself be ushered into the building. 

When they get into the restaurant, Dick could faint. There’s half of Easy Company sitting around various tables, clearly waiting for Dick. Webster sits whispering something to Liebgott, who is already stuffing his face with breadsticks. Babe and Guarnere have just done shots, and Dick can see the empty glasses on the side of the table. Buck Compton, his wife, and George Luz are cracking up over something Luz has just said. Eugene Roe and two guys he doesn’t recognize sit in the corner, whispering smoking quietly. 

“Attention!” Harry yells half-heartedly. 

There’s whoops and hollers and they all get up to rush at Dick. There’s hugs and loud exclamations of happy holidays all around. Dick is speechless, grinning a true grin. He notices no one else is in the room, which means they’ve rented it out for the night. Dick blanches at the thought of the cost. 

“Happy Christmas, Dick,” Harry whispers when everyone has said hello. He and Kitty are holding hands, and everyone is alight with excited talk. He’s overwhelmed. 

“Sir,” Roe says. The two unknown men stand next to him. “This is Eugene Sledge and Merrill Shelton. They served in the Pacific,” the two men nod their heads in Dick’s direction. “I met them in New Orleans,” Roe smiles. 

Dick salutes the two men, in a fit of pride of the people around him. They both break out into big smiles and salute him back. 

Dinner is a traditional ham, with potatoes and vegetables and pie. Dick stuffs himself, and has a glass of sparkling grape juice. Holiday music plays and Dick feels buoyant in the atmosphere. He sits next to Harry and Compton. He doesn’t talk much, only observes his company, happy and safe and warm during the holidays. Liebgott brings out his small Menorah and says a Hanukkah prayer, even though Hanukkah has already ended. Dick sits in fascination, and notices Webster’s brilliant grin up at Joe. 

When they’ve finished eating, Dick is tired, but everyone seems to be waiting for something. 

“Harry, how much exactly did you pay for all this?” he gestures around, clearly trying to convey the absurdity of it. 

Harry pauses, eyes flicking somewhere behind Dick. 

“He didn’t,” a voice says from behind them. 

Dick goes very still, and doesn’t turn around. 

“Hey, Red,” the voice is right by Dick’s ear now. And Dick turns around, meeting a very familiar pair of brown eyes. Nix is standing over him, grinning. He’s in full uniform, his hat slightly ajar, a backpack slung over one shoulder. 

No one else has said anything, they’re all watching raptly as Dick processes what he’s seeing. 

“You shouldn’t have spent this much money,” is all he can get out. 

“Oh, come on Dick,” Compton shouts from down the table. 

“Just give him a second,” Lewis still has that broad smile on his face. “I owe him some patience,” he says while Dick continues staring from his chair. 

Music starts up from somewhere, and respective couples and friends get up to the dance floor, politely giving them some breathing space, although Dick sees Kitty slapping Harry as he tries to get a look back at the table. 

Lewis taps a finger under Dick’s chin. “You still with me, Red?” 

Mania snaps in Dick’s head. He surges up, wrapping his arms around Lew’s neck. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” he says through tears that have finally broken over his eyeline. 

Lewis’ laugh rumbles through Dick’s chest. His uniform is fresh, and he seems to be in one piece. 

“Wait, wait,” Dick says once he can speak again. His eyes are still spilling. “The war isn’t over.” 

“It is for me,” he unbuttons his shirt to reveal a small purple scar in his shoulder. “Hurt like a son of a bitch, but I had points and an injury, so I got out of there. I was ready,” he’s smiling. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dick tries to be furious. 

“I had a feeling I’d get to come home, and once I knew I wouldn’t die, I wanted it to be a surprise. So I wrote Kitty,” he smiles over at her now. 

Dick doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything. He hastily buttons up Lew’s shirt, and more tears redden his cheeks. 

Everyone is watching them. 

“Come on,” Lewis whispers into the hollow of Dick’s neck. “Let’s go dance with our friends.” 

So they do. 


End file.
